


The Long Road

by LiaS0



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaS0/pseuds/LiaS0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan and Enasalin's travel to Ostagar was right after the horrifying events that transpired on what would have been Enasalin's wedding day. She is still plagued by her demons, by the blood on her hands that won't come clean. A short story about the growth of kinship that had to have happened during the isolated travels of Duncan and his newest recruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Road

**Author's Note:**

> Italics are flashbacks

Enasalin sat across from her captor and sharpened her sword.

Perhaps captor was the wrong word. Duncan did not have her bound and gagged, nor was he starving her. He hadn’t taken her weapons, although he’d warned her that their use against him would be ill-advised. No, no, while she sharpened her greatsword that’d been passed down through her family line, he sat across from her and sharpened his own longsword, his lips pulled down into a severe frown. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked like the perfect scene from a story: two comrades spending the evening together while they traveled across Ferelden.

Enasalin was not an outsider, however. She knew exactly where she stood.

“We will reach Ostagar soon.” Duncan informed her. Enasalin glanced up at him and then back down to her sword, scowling at the metal that glistened and gleamed from her fastidious cleaning. Apart from sparring in the mornings, sparring in the hot, midday sun, and sparring in the evenings, the sword hadn’t seen actual use. No, the last time she’d drawn blood with it was when-

She slid the whetstone against the edge and grimaced, banishing the thoughts from her mind violently. She wouldn’t think about it. If she thought about it, then she’d be forced to think about other things, like the alienage she’d left behind that was probably filled with what had to be lakes of blood from friends and family that-

“You’ll meet the other recruits, as well as the newest member of our order, Alistair.” Duncan’s low, gravelly voice startled her, and she glanced up at him, frowning impressively. Duncan frowned back.

“Okay.” Enasalin said. Duncan always seemed to be sizing her up, measuring her on some sort of scale that she couldn’t see. She wasn’t much into that idea, him being a human and all.

“Are you ready to spar?” He asked. His tone made it clear that it wasn’t truly a question. In reply, Enasalin stood up and lifted her sword, gripping it with a familiarity of practice. Duncan stood as well.

They stared one another down over the fire, neither one moving and neither one speaking. For all the weeks of travel endured on the hard roads, Enasalin could begrudgingly admit that although he always seemed to be measuring her, he didn’t seem to also be the judge. He watched. He tried to listen to words that were never said. He commented little on them.

He saw far too much for her liking.

Enasalin moved, and then their blades were blurs against one another, the movements a rhythm and dance that she knew well. Her feet followed through each turn, her defense as strict and unyielding as her offense. She played a beat against his sword, and he responded with a jab that sent her leaping back to dodge a blow that would have knocked the wind from her. They considered one another, and then they were at it again.

She never knew just how long their spar matches lasted. All that she knew was that his skill would sooner or later best her, and she’d concede, turning her blade down to the ground in defeat. This time though, he won when his blade sliced along the back of her hand, clean and true. Shocked, Enasalin dropped her sword to the ground with a dull thud, her eyes fixated on the line of blood that welled up on her skin and rolled down her wrist, the color bright against the muted background of the forest.

_Did you kill them? Did you kill them all?_

_Like dogs, Shianni._

She blinked rapidly, but it was like she was in the alienage once more, trapped. She’d been born like that, just as any other elf was –trapped.

_Do you really hate him that much? Nelaros seems like a good guy, Enasalin. Maybe marriage to him wouldn’t be so bad?_

_…Maybe not. I suppose that I just don’t…want someone chosen for me. I want to choose the person that I intent to spent the rest of my life with. Is that small freedom so much to ask for? To not feel so helpless?_

“I am sorry.” Duncan moved to wrap a bandage around her wrist, but Enasalin jerked away from him and blinked rapidly, wiping her hand on the bottom of her tunic. She averted her gaze from his eyes that seemed to be weighing something once more, and she picked up her sword.

“It’s fine.” She said curtly. Duncan nodded and stepped away from her, his expression inscrutable. Enasalin sheathed her sword, and Duncan went back to cleaning his blades. They spent the rest of the evening in silence.

* * *

 

The nightmares always woke her when the night was at its darkest, when it seemed that everything else in the world slept. She woke up, her eyes wide and wild, her heart clawing out of her chest and her lungs in her throat. She blinked, but Maker, they were still there, they were in front of her and every single one of them was _dead_.

Her hands were covered in blood, and it seemed to soak into her skin, reek on her clothes and in her hair. She gasped silently and stumbled to the nearby stream, plunging into the frigid waters and inhaling a scream at the cold. She clawed with numb fingers and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed. It’d never come clean, though. The blood would never come clean. She’d killed them all, but it hadn’t been enough. They still raped Shianni, they still murdered Nelaros, and they had her people locked into the alienage, trapped. It didn’t matter how many she killed, it’d _never be enough_.

Enasalin wasn’t sure if it was the sound, or if her senses were too high-strung. One moment, she was scrubbing her hands in the river, and in the next moment, she held Duncan pinned to the ground, his blade at his throat. He blinked up at her, and although his face was utterly calm, she could feel his heart beating just as frantically as hers was.

“I’m sorry.” He said calmly, although he could feel the dangerous kiss of death at his neck. Enasalin stared down at him, breathing raggedly.

“I’m not.” Enasalin replied, and she didn’t move. He was a human. He’d sneaked up on her, and Maker, he was a human. He was just as filthy, just as dangerous as the rest.

“You have no reason to be. No one can be blamed for lashing out when backed into a corner.” His body slowly, carefully, relaxed, although his fierce gaze did not waver. Enasalin trembled; from the cold or from the pain, she could not say.

_Here’s Nelaros’ blushing bride!_

_Reluctantly, I see._

_I’m sorry that I was so rude to you, earlier, Nelaros. I shouldn’t blame you for something that is out of our control._

_Maybe…in time you could learn to love me? I know that we barely know one another, but I want to take care of you. I want to make you happy._

_…I’m willing to try._

“It won’t come clean. My hands won’t come clean.” She said, and she could feel the blood on her skin, in her hair, on her lips.

“From those that you’ve killed?” Duncan asked.

“From those that died because I was not strong enough.” Enasalin growled, but it was weak, and it was a whine. She could taste the blood on her tongue, running down her throat.

“Then they probably never will.” He said, and something about it stung like a whip. It cracked across her back, and she leapt away from him, casting his dagger aside. Duncan stood up warily.

“I’m going to sleep.” Enasalin said, strangled, but when she moved to go back to her bed roll, Duncan held up his hand to stop her.

“Wait, please.” He moved over to his pack, but it wasn’t another weapon that he sprung on her. No, it was far worse than that. He pulled out a thick, woolen blanket, and he drew it around her, pulling it taut at the shoulders. It greedily soaked up the river water, and she numbly held the edges, her fingers stiff from the cold.

“What is this?” She asked. Duncan smiled grimly.

“You shiver at night.” He explained.

“I don’t.”

“As do any with demons that come clawing back to them when their mind is most vulnerable.”

Enasalin avoided his stare and moved back to the fire to warm herself, feeling irritable and foolish. She wondered if Shianni was warm, or if her own demons haunted her dreams as well. Helpless. If there was ever a word that scared her worse than the blood on her hands, it was helplessness.

“He raped her.” She said, and the embers from the fire seared her vision.

“I know.”

“I killed them all like dogs for it.” She looked up at Duncan, her voice flat and emotionless.

“Yes,” Duncan agreed.

“I’m not sorry.”

“As I said before –you have no reason to be.”

* * *

 

She woke early from her cramped sleeping position by the fire. Duncan was already awake and cooking breakfast, his gaze fixated on the task before him. As their normal routine, they ate, washed their faces in the river, and then sparred. This time though, it was Enasalin that got the best of Duncan, and it was him that lowered his blade to the ground to concede victory. They cleaned their blades, and then they were off once more, a dreary trudge that took little effort and far less thinking than Enasalin liked. Nothing to distract her mind made her think of other things, things that made the fires of enraged fury lick at her bones and tempt her to violence.

“You normally hold back when we spar. You didn’t today.” Duncan said, and his voice startled her out of her reverie. She looked at his back and scowled.

“I didn’t.” Enasalin agreed.

“The blood won’t ever wash away.” He continued calmly. “But you’ll hate yourself a little less when you realize that if you hadn’t done what you did, then things would have ended a lot worse for those that you love.”

She glanced down at her hands, and she still saw red. The ring on her finger was a little too big, but Nelaros couldn’t wear it anymore. She would wear it for him, for the innocent that she didn’t know that well, but had cared enough to try and save her. As a Grey Warden, she knew that she wouldn’t have to be so helpless anymore. She would be able to keep everyone that she loved safe. No one would have to die because she wasn’t strong enough ever again. Her hands were still red, but perhaps the weight of her failure wouldn’t have to press down so persistently anymore.

_Everything’s going to be alright, Shianni. I’ll take care of you._

_You promise?_

_I promise._


End file.
